


If Death Is the Only Way

by ExaltedBrand



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Cunnilingus, Dreams, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, Porn With Plot, Sad, Terminal Illnesses, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExaltedBrand/pseuds/ExaltedBrand
Summary: As Fjorm feels the weight of death approaching, Eir does what she can to provide her with happiness.
Relationships: Fjorm/Eir
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	1. A Simple Gesture

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing suggestion from a fan

If there was one thing Fjorm hated more than knowing she was going to die, it was the uncertainty of when it would happen.

The Rite of Frost had been a necessity. She knew that. Had she not invoked it, King Surtr would never have been defeated, and the armies of Múspell would have bathed Nifl, Askr, and Embla in flame. She had been ready to pay any price for Zenith’s safety—even knowing, as her brother had warned her, what the consequences of the rite ultimately were. She didn’t regret invoking the rite, didn’t regret killing Surtr, didn’t regret avenging all the lives his bottomless evil had claimed.

But she hadn’t realised how painful the price would really be. She hadn’t anticipated how difficult it was to live her life hanging in the balance—to be aware that one moment, without warning, everything could end.

It had almost been a year since Múspell’s defeat. Not a year of peace, tragically: Hel, the Queen of the Dead, had emerged from the shadows to wage war on the living, and all throughout the conflict, Fjorm had gone to sleep each night wondering if she’d wake as another pawn in Hel’s army. The weight of inevitability shadowed her at every opportunity; and as the year had stretched on and on, that weight had grown heavier, refusing to let her forget how little time she surely had left. By contrast, the Rite of Flame—that which Múspell’s Commander Laegjarn had selflessly sacrificed herself to—almost seemed like a mercy. Death was fast and painful, but it had arrived quickly, and Laegjarn had still managed to die with a smile on her face. Fjorm couldn’t even be sure that she’d be conscious enough to smile when she died.

In more desperate times, she’d been willing to die. But now, in a rare time of peace, she couldn’t help but be selfish.

Seeking respite from her thoughts, she’d taken more time to herself in recent weeks. At Princess Sharena’s recommendation, she’d made a habit of visiting the castle’s central courtyard, sitting on a bench and taking in the mingling of sights all around her: the varied colours of the flowers, the sun shining down and casting warm rays across the grass, the sky as blue as all the ice in Nifl. Few other heroes ever visited the courtyard, but Fjorm liked it that way. It was her place of solitude, a quiet retreat where she could clear her mind and hold on to the simple pleasures of nature. Out here, she could forget about everything. About the Rite of Frost, about her health, about the future.

That day, a gentle breeze blew through the courtyard, rustling the trees and flowers. The air, so crisp and cool, reminded her of spring back home, when the snow retreated from the Hjarnhof plains to reveal all the vast purple glades of frosted grass and wildflowers. She smiled at the memory; recalled a time, three or four years after Ylgr’s birth, when she and all her siblings had travelled to Helmgr Lake just a few short miles from Nifl Castle. There was sadness in the memories, yes—in seeing Gunnthrá’s face again, in revisiting more innocent times—but she took solace in them. It reminded her why she was still hanging on. Why she still wanted to live, even despite all she’d lost. And out here in the courtyard, as she dwelled on the past, nothing could disturb the silence.

Indeed, the silence held as steady as ever. But from the corner of her eye, bringing Fjorm out of that happy moment, she saw something—someone—moving soundlessly. As turned her head and sat up to look, she felt her body stiffen in place.

It was Eir—princess of the Realm of the Dead, and Hel’s daughter—drifting solemnly into the gardens a short distance away. Her skin was as pale as ever, and her black and white dress trailed just above her boots like a ghostly veil. Even the sunlight seemed to shift to avoid her, submerging the gardens around her into a dim, eerie haze.

Of course. It made sense. Even in as quiet a place as this, Fjorm thought, death was never far behind.

Eir had been a member of the Order for only a few months: she’d left her mother’s side when the war with Hel began, and had stayed with Askr through to the very end. In those months, Fjorm had learned very little about her: she interacted with few people, and could never muster much enthusiasm for longer conversation. As much has her arrival had unsettled Fjorm’s sense of peace, she couldn’t help but wonder why Eir had come to a place like this. Had she also wanted a moment to herself?

Perhaps, at the very least, she could try making polite conversation. If she could speak freely with a princess of the dead, then maybe she could learn not to fear death itself.

She decided to call out to her.

“Princess Eir?” she said. “What brings you here?”

Eir glanced around, and her expression briefly registered surprise. But her response was as quiet and reserved as Fjorm had come to expect.

“Princess Fjorm… isn’t it? Forgive me… I did not realise that you were here…”

“There’s nothing to forgive. It’s simply a nice day, so I thought I’d take advantage of it to relax a little.”

“Yes… A nice day.” Eir’s attention briefly held on Fjorm, then she looked away. “I’m sorry. Did you want to be alone…?”

Truthfully, Fjorm did. But pushing death away just to take comfort in the past ultimately did little beyond bringing her temporary moments of happiness. It seemed a waste to turn away the opportunity for confronting her fear of it when it presented itself directly to her.

“No—no, not at all,” she said. “I just… don’t mind me. You can stay, if you’d like.” She paused, trying to look less tense. “The gardens look lovely today. They remind me of Nifl.”

Eir exhaled slowly. She approached Fjorm, fingers locked together.

“Nifl… That’s your home, isn’t it? A land of endless cold…”

“That’s right. Though you must be quite accustomed to the cold yourself…”

“Yes… Though the chill of death is deeper… It drives straight to the heart, numbing everything. Even pain…” She averted her gaze again, looking around the courtyard. “This is the first time I’ve seen the gardens…” she said quietly. “So abundant in life… So unlike my realm. I sense such beauty here… but also an equal measure of sadness.”

Even as she was a walking reminder of death, something about Eir felt different to the other denizens of her realm—to her mother, and to Hel’s two generals. It was almost like she existed between life and death.

Perhaps that quality, Fjorm thought, made her easier to relate to.

“Sadness?” she asked. “Why is that?”

Eir paused, then sat down beside Fjorm. Even as she kept a polite distance, Fjorm could feel the chill from her body, somehow far colder than Nifl.

“It all feels… so fleeting,” Eir said. “The leaves grow, so wonderful in their colours for just a moment, but then wither and die… Even if they return next year, they will only die again, and again. They live their lives constantly surrounded by the spectre of death…”

“That’s true of all life. Even our own.”

Eir looked at her, offering a weak smile. “Yes… of course. Our lives are measured in moments… like those of the leaves.” She turned to face Fjorm more directly, and their eyes met properly for the first time. “But I suppose… that’s what gives them their beauty. Like this garden, the fleeting nature of those lives makes them shine so brightly… so brilliantly…”

Fjorm smiled back. For someone who seemed so distant from everyone else, she was struck by Eir’s warmth. It was completely at odds with the cold cruelty of Hel, and she found herself taken in by it.

“You’re right,” she said. “Everything about life, in the end, is beautiful.”

“This world has given me… much to think about,” said Eir. “As a child of death, Mother taught me to see life as an affront… But here in Askr, I see that life is so valuable…”

Fjorm nodded. “It is valuable. And we have to make every moment count. Some of won’t be blessed with long lives. Some us will… die young. But just as the leaves take joy in their brief lives and embrace the wind when it’s time, so must we.”

Something in Eir’s eyes flickered.

“Princess Fjorm… You seem… acquainted with death. Have you lost someone close to you…?”

“I’ve—”

Fjorm’s voice caught in her throat. She turned away, staring at the patterns in the stone path beneath them.

“I… Yes. My mother, and my eldest sister, Gunnthrá. Both dead before their time. Both taken from this world by that monster—Surtr—long before they should have died.”

Eir hesitated, then placed her hand on Fjorm’s shoulder. Even through her glove, Fjorm could feel the frigidness of her skin, cold to the point of discomfort. For as pleasant as Eir was, it felt like the embrace of death creeping up on her as she recalled her mother and sister.

“Forgive me,” Eir said. “I heard of the conflict with Múspell, but I was not aware… I did not realise the extent of your loss…”

“Loss is a part of life. Just like death. It is tragic, yes… but I must live on. My mother and sister would not want me to be mired in sadness forever… so I’ll celebrate their lives, and the time I spent with them. For as long as I can…”

Eir’s gaze held steady on her, and for a moment, Fjorm felt as though she was peering directly into her.

“There is… something more…” she said. “My apologies, but… I sense a deeper familiarity with death from your words. Not simply one born of personal tragedy, but… as if it weighs on your mind every day…”

Fjorm turned away once more. “It’s nothing. It’s of no concern.”

“I see,” Eir said, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Her hand slipped away from Fjorm’s shoulder. “Forgive me… I have overstepped my boundaries…”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” Fjorm looked into Eir’s eyes, softened by the sympathy in her gaze. “I would rather not trouble anyone with it. And…”

Fjorm paused. After Eir’s show of tenderness, she didn’t want to tell her that she reminded her of death, or that her presence evoked feelings of worry that were better left buried. She was a kind, lovely woman. The last thing Fjorm wanted to do was accidentally insult her.

“And?” Eir asked.

Fjorm sighed softly. “I would rather keep this conversation to things that make us happy. I want to remember my time in the Order fondly. And my time with you.”

Eir’s eyes lit up a little, but her gaze still seemed troubled. She stood up, stepping a few paces away from Fjorm with her fingers interlacing nervously.

“That may be so, but… there’s a sadness not unlike that I feel from this garden. That of something passing by so quickly…”

She turned in place, looking at Fjorm.

“You spoke of those not blessed with long lives,” she said. “Will you die young, too…? Wither before your time, like the leaves?”

“I…”

Another moment of hesitation. Finally, Fjorm sighed. Maybe it was better to talk about it.

“I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps…?”

The words came with difficulty.

“To defeat Múspell, I… invoked an ancient Niflese rite. We defeated Surtr—but the rite cost me my… my…”

She took a deep breath, the emotions threatening to overwhelm her, but she kept her composure.

“…My life,” she said, steadying herself. “I live on borrowed time, Princess Eir. Each day I wake up alive is a surprise. I had only expected to make it a few days, but… it’s been almost a year. My time must be approaching.”

Eir’s gaze fell to the floor, grave.

“I see… You aren’t certain when…?”

“No.”

“So, then…” Eir said, “the uncertainty brings you pain …?”

Fjorm exhaled slowly.

“Sometimes, I… I wish I had died invoking the rite. Or at least a few days after Surtr’s defeat. I would have sacrificed my life as many times as necessary for Nifl, but… now that I’ve been allowed to live for a little while longer, I don’t want to go.”

Eir took a few steps closer, still looking down. Her slender fingers rubbed together nervously.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I once thought that… if someone were in suffering, and sure to die, it would have been a greater kindness to simply let them pass on and leave that pain behind. But with you, Princess Fjorm, I see that would be fruitless. Living causes you pain, but death terrifies you…”

Fjorm nodded.

“That’s what I mean when I talk about making every moment count. If I can’t find any happiness in however long I have left, then I can at least work to make the world a better place for everyone else: my brother, my little sister, the Order of Heroes. It’s what keeps me from sinking into despair.”

She felt a single gloved hand come to rest on her shoulder, and looked up to see Eir’s face, her usually forlorn expression now brimming with sympathy.

“Please, Princess Fjorm… Tell me what I can do. If you say you can’t find happiness, then let me do something… Let me bring you some joy. No-one should have to face death with a heavy heart. I know I must seem much too gloomy for it, but… let me brighten your day, if only for a little while…”

“Eir…” Fjorm said, swallowing. “It’s okay… You don’t need to do anything. I’m fine. I have a reason to keep going, after all.”

But Eir didn’t seem to hear her. She was suddenly glancing around the garden, as if struck by a thought.

“I know…” she murmured, more to herself than Fjorm, “I know what will help… what could make even death smile…”

She let go of Fjorm’s shoulder and walked towards the blooming shrubs, casting her eyes over the flowers. She plucked one, a deep blue, then searched for another, settling on a vibrant red. She twisted them together to make a simple wreath, then returned to Fjorm.

“Daughter of Nifl, Princess of Ice…” she began, as if performing some kind of ceremony. “As this garden, you may only live a fleeting moment of beauty before your death… but please accept this symbol of its strength and resilience. Let the blue represent your homeland, your will to live for its sake; and the red your blood, the life you still carry—both now flowing through your veins… Let this bring you joy. Let this bring you comfort.”

She placed the wreath in Fjorm’s hands and looked into her eyes.

“Let this bring you happiness.”

Fjorm held the wreath, letting her attention fall from Eir to the arrangement of flowers. The blue flower, with petals in the shape of an irregular star, seemed at odds with the red’s crescent shape, but each colour somehow complimented the other.

Such a simple gesture, she thought. Two flowers tied together. But… it seemed so much more than that.

Eir watched her patiently, as if trying to read her expression. Fjorm looked up to her and couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you, Eir,” she said. “This is… I’ll treasure this. I really will.”

Eir smiled warmly in response. It was almost odd on her, but she looked even prettier without sadness casting a shadow over her face. Her attention was entirely on Fjorm—on her happiness, on her reaction. She clung to it. For some reason, she almost looked nostalgic.

Focusing again on the wreath, Fjorm gently touched the petals of the flowers. Their life, like everything else in nature, could be so short; even given water, they might have only had days or weeks to exist. That was their nature. But just because their life was limited didn’t meant they couldn’t be beautiful, or worthy of attention. Or love.

Was that, too, what Eir had been trying to say? That her own life, however brief, could shine as brightly as all the flowers and leaves in the garden?

Perhaps she was reading too deeply into it. But to imagine it coming from Eir… it was a nice thought. She was so quiet and distant from the rest of the Order, but Fjorm sensed a desire for closeness in her.

“Eir,” she said.

Eir looked back at her, waiting patiently for her to continue.

“I’m… glad we ran into each other today.”

A gentle smile touched Eir’s lips.

“You’re very welcome, Princess Fjorm… It makes me happy to see you smile. It reminds me of…”

Her voice trailed off, and she looked off into the distance.

“I’m sorry…” she said after a moment. “I didn’t mean to get lost in my thoughts like that. I should be going now…”

Without another word, Eir turned around and walked back inside the castle.

Fjorm looked at the wreath in her hands; watched the red and blue petals shimmering gently in the sunlight.

“Strength and resilience”… Perhaps Eir had simply been trying to cheer her up with some inspiring rhetoric, but it seemed such an apt choice of words. The red, like blood, carried the enduring spirit of life, while the blue was the frigid cold of Nifl. And because of the sacrifice she’d made to defeat Surtr, Nifl would be intertwined with that enduring spirit long after she was gone.

Somehow, the empty garden seemed less appealing in Eir’s absence. Fjorm hoped she could see her again soon.


	2. The Comfort in Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjorm can't help but be selfish. Fortunately, Eir is nothing if not understanding.

That night, Fjorm had a odd dream.

She was standing in the Land of the Dead. The land around her was rocky and barren, painted in the washed-out shades of an oil painting; a surreal dreamscape where her memories of the real Hel mixed uneasily with all the anxieties playing on her mind, forming strange, shapeless spires that loomed high overhead and twisted endlessly into the dark. She didn’t feel cold at all—in fact, she didn’t feel anything—but the chill of death was palpable with every step. It ran deeper than a sensation on her skin: her heart was heavy, as if she’d been deep in mourning.

The sky shifted and changed in frenzied brush strokes, from dawns to dusks to darkest nights, as if an artist were taking broken bits of colour and smearing them across the skies. Intermingled with Fjorm’s surroundings were images from her life: brief glimpses of her childhood, of her early days with Gunnthrá and Hrid, of a new-born Ylgr in their mother’s arms, of the days they’d spent together before Surtr’s flames had wiped it all away. 

Atop a mound in the earth, she saw a familiar wreath of flowers. They’d been placed there a long time ago, but the colours still held strong in the gloom, refusing to let death dampen their spirits. Only the wind, soft and empty, could disturb the petals; and in that moment a strong gust blew from behind Fjorm, scattering a single speck of red down the hill.

As her eyes followed its movement, she saw Eir.

The princess of the dead was submerged from the chest up in a purple lake that had seemed to come from nowhere: solemn, silent, looking up at her. A faint light shone from beneath the water, turning her appearance ethereal. As Fjorm walked towards her, slowly descending the hill, she realised Eir wasn’t wearing anything. Were this the real world, she would have blushed profusely; but here, in this place of unreal reality, it simply didn’t bother her.

She knelt down by the water’s edge, meeting Eir’s gaze.

“Princess Eir…?”

Eir didn’t move, but somehow Fjorm knew that she could hear her. Fjorm opened her mouth to speak again, but no words came. Eir stayed where she was, unmoving, watching—but her expression enticed Fjorm in, invited the Niflese princess to join her.

As if desiring nothing more, Fjorm found herself stripping away her clothing. As her armour fell to the ground, it immediately sunk into the earth, like burdens taken away. She felt utterly free. Free of worry, free of pain, free of fear.

She stepped into the water. It was warm—a strange sort of warmth, like a body. It was almost like she’d stepped into the bath she ended every day with.

She drifted further out, walking along the bed of the lake until the water came up to her shoulders. Eir continued to gaze into her eyes, beckoning her further, and Fjorm followed her wordless command. Eir stretched forth her hand as Fjorm closed the distance, and their hands slipped together, enveloping Fjorm in a watery grasp. Eir pulled her in and wrapped her other arm around Fjorm’s shoulders, locking her close.

She felt so real. The chill surrounding her felt so comforting. The sensation of her body penetrated through Fjorm’s skin and sunk into her bones.

“I’m sorry…” Eir whispered. “This is all I can do… All I know how to do…”

Her arms tightened around Fjorm.

“I can’t save you. I can’t give you the life you still want. But I can give you this… This moment… Happiness…”

Fjorm felt herself leaning in, drawn into Eir’s embrace. Their lips met, and they lost themselves in a kiss.

She and Eir held each other in the water, drowning in an ocean of affection.

In Eir’s arms, Fjorm saw the comfort in death.

* * *

When Fjorm awoke, it was too soon. She’d thought—even if only briefly—that she might have actually died; that her soul might have been spirited off in the night as she’d always feared. But here she was in her room, surrounded by the same old sights: the wide bed with ice-blue sheets, the dark wooden furniture, the little trinkets and mementos from home lining her bedside table that Hrid and Ylgr sent periodically. And the flowers. They were still there, too—resting among the Niflese mementos. No petals had been displaced; no wind had blown through to upset their careful arrangement.

It was another morning. Another gift.

But more to the point… what in Nifl’s name had that dream been about?

She’d found herself in the Realm of the Dead; seen her whole life racing past her in fragments, with the restless sky rushing through each and every day of her life. That much made sense, was at least comprehensible in the way one could attribute meaning to dreams. She could even understand running across Eir, the sole remaining avatar of that realm, and taking comfort in her, reassured by her tenderness the day before. Even if she didn’t want to die yet—not while she could still draw breath and bring smiles to those around her—she’d be happy to have Eir take her by the hand when it was time and gently guide her into the afterlife.

That didn’t explain the kissing. That didn’t explain why she’d pressed herself so eagerly against Eir’s lips, or why she’d indulged so deeply in the feelings it’d brought.

Fjorm couldn’t deny a certain attraction to Eir. For someone raised by death—or perhaps it was that draconic heritage from the days before Hel had claimed her as a daughter—she was undeniably beautiful. Her soft features, pale complexion, and slender figure all came together to give her an otherworldly charm. Her eyes were kind and gentle; they showed such warmth and understanding, even when they were so often coloured by melancholy.

She’d known for some time that she preferred the company of women to men. A brief tryst with she’d had early on with Azura, one of the Order’s heroes and a songstress, had _thoroughly_ confirmed that for her. If Princess Eir had asked—not that she would ever ask, of course, but if she had—then Fjorm certainly wouldn’t have turned her down.

But now her thoughts were turning to silly places. It had only been a dream.

Sighing it off, Fjorm stirred in her pillow, summoning the energy for the day ahead: some early patrols, then some drills with the other heroes to make sure the castle’s defences were up to task. Even in a time of peace, they had to be ready. If Surtr and Hel could strike so suddenly and without warning, then a new threat could do just the same. It didn’t matter if she never lived to see Askr and Nifl’s next enemy so long as she’d made sure the Order of Heroes was fit to defeat them.

But as she moved her body, she realised something felt… off. Her head was heavy, her vision strangely foggy, and her limbs were weightless, as if moving of their own accord. They hardly even felt like a part of her.

She tried to sit up, but she was nearly overwhelmed by a sudden wave of dizzy nausea. The momentum pulled her forward off her bed and onto the stone floor, and she gasped as all the air was suddenly forced from her lungs. A sharp pain shot through her chest like an icicle being driven into her heart. She lay there motionless, struggling to breath.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

She managed to roll over, pushing herself up with her arms. Her vision swam, the edges tinged with black, and while the morning sun shone down into her chamber through the window, the light hurt her eyes. She blinked rapidly and groped for something to hold onto, finally managing to pull herself up against her bed. But her body ached, and her muscles felt weak.

Not today, she thought. Please. Not today.

Why was this happening now? Now, of all times? Was it punishment? Fate’s way of admonishing her for finding happiness yesterday? For telling Eir that she wanted to defy death and keep on living? Or was it that dream she’d had…? Her willingness to sink into death’s arms, to take such intimate comfort in Eir?

No. She couldn’t think that way. This wasn’t anyone’s fault: just a storm of horrible timing. Trying to blame herself would only make it worse.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to focus herself. She coughed, then tried to take another breath, but it took all of her strength just to pull air into her body. She coughed again, and again, and again, each time feeling weaker than the last. Her lungs were drowning in fluid; she could hardly breath. The room was going dark. She reached out with her hands and grasped at the cool surface of the wall to steady herself.

She couldn’t give up. She had to get help.

She forced one foot in front of the other, taking slow, careful steps towards the door—then all the strength gave out, and she fell down again. The impact rattled her teeth, but she didn’t have it in her to stand up. She rolled over, staring at the ceiling.

Was this it?

Was it time?

Was she really going to fade away like this? Without a smile? Without Eir at her side?

It wasn’t right. She still had so much left to do here. So much more she wanted to do for Nifl’s future. So many goodbyes she’d left unsaid.

She laid there on the floor for a very long time, struggling to draw breath with lungs that didn’t want to work.

It was no use.

She closed her eyes.

* * *

“Fjorm! Fjorm, can you hear me?”

A voice. Male, Fjorm thought. It was so blurred and indistinct that she could hardly make it out—like he was speaking to her underwater.

“Sharena—could you fetch some more water? And a healer! Anyone will do!”

This time, the voice was louder, but no clearer. Fjorm groggily opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.

The same ceiling. Her ceiling. She was in her bed, covered by heavy blankets. Her thoughts were all out of order, and her memories felt scattered. There was a gnawing dread in the pit of her stomach, and she desperately tried to remember why.

“Fjorm…!”

Fjorm’s head lulled to one side. There, sitting beside her bed, she saw Prince Alfonse, wearing an expression of deep concern. She smiled weakly at him, managing to bring a hand up to wave.

She felt so weak. So cold.

That was what was happening. She remembered now. The Rite of Frost was finally taking her away.

“Thank the gods you’re alright,” Alfonse said, sighing with relief. “When I came in here and saw you on the floor, I… Well, I feared an attack, or some kind of plot. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m cold…”

He put a hand on her forehead. It felt blazing hot.

“No wonder,” he said, his concern resurfacing. “Your head’s freezing. What kind of fever turns a person cold?”

Almost no-one knew of the price she’d paid for invoking the Rite of Frost. Besides Eir, she’d only entrusted the knowledge of it to a group of mages headed up by Lysithea, a hero from Fódlan. But though they’d meant to find a cure, they were still in the early days of their research. For the rest of the Order—Prince Alfonse, Princess Sharena, even the summoner themselves—Fjorm had never said a word. She hadn’t wanted to worry them, or distract them from more important things. Weighed against Zenith’s safety, her own life was a drop in the ocean.

“Perhaps it’s a Nifl fever,” she managed, passing it off as a joke. She laughed, and it came out as a cough.

Alfonse frowned. “Whatever it is, it’s clearly serious. We’ll have a healer look at you.”

Fjorm made a soft sound of protest, but realised it was useless. Like this, there could be little hiding how ill she really was.

A few moments later, the door swung open. Princess Sharena hurried in, trailed closely behind by a red-haired woman Fjorm didn’t entirely recognise.

“Fjorm!” Sharena rushed up and hugged Fjorm so tightly that her lungs threatened to give out again. “I’m so glad you’re alright!” she cried, pressing her warm, tear-stained cheek against Fjorm’s freezing skin. “When I heard you were found on the floor, I was so, so worried…!”

“I-I’m fine…” Fjorm said, struggling to reassure her even as the show of affection warmed her heart. “Just a bit of weakness, that’s all…”

The red-haired woman walked over, and Sharena let go, stepping back and joining her brother on the other side of the bed.

“Forgive me, Princess Fjorm,” the woman said, “but I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure yet. My name is Lena.”

Fjorm gave her a weak smile of acknowledgement, doing her best to sit up. “Lena… Thank you for coming. But I’m feeling much better, really…”

“Now, now,” she said, returning the smile. “It’s good of you to stay strong, but there’s no rush. May I at least examine you?”

Swallowing, Fjorm nodded, and Lena placed a hand on her forehead. She frowned.

“Her skin is like ice…” she said, glancing across at the siblings.

“So I felt,” Alfonse replied. “It’s like no fever I’ve ever known…”

“I would say a magical affliction of some kind,” Lena said. “But of what nature…? A curse? An untreated injury from a tome? It seems more symptomatic of a curse, but… I can’t see anything to clearly identify it…”

“Can curses really make people _that_ cold…?” Sharena asked.

“Rarely, yes.” Lena sighed. “Might you have any idea, Princess Fjorm? Anything at all would help—no matter how small or unimportant it may seem.”

Fjorm wasn’t sure what was worse: worrying them with a fear of the unknown, or horrifying them with the truth.

In the end, she only shook her head. Her heart couldn’t bare telling them the truth.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just… don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Lena said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’ll do everything I can to make you better.” She looked at Alfonse and Sharena, dispelling their worried looks with a smile. “Prince Alfonse, Princess Sharena—please leave her in my care. You have my word that I’ll do everything in my power to help her.”

While they looked reluctant to leave, Alfonse stood up and exhaled deeply. “Very well,” he said. “I suppose it’s out of our control. Get well soon, Fjorm. We’ll come visit in the evening.”

“Please be safe, Fjorm!” Sharena said, more emphatically. “I don’t want to lose you too…”

‘You too’… Of course. They’d buried their father just days ago. How could she ever find it in herself to tell them that she’d soon die too? How could she be so cruel?

She nodded and smiled weakly, doing her best to wave as they left.

As the door closed, Lena turned to her. “Okay. Just lay still and get some rest. I’m going to do what I can with my healing staff. If nothing else, it should abate the symptoms for now.”

Fjorm laid back in her pillow as Lena stood by the side of her bed. She began chanting softly under her breath, staff in hand, and Fjorm felt the tingling sensation of healing magic coursing through her body. It felt… pleasant. Her head cleared, and the pain began to ebb away.

After some time, the sensation waned, and Lena stood back, lowering the staff.

“There,” she said. “How do you feel?”

The chill had left Fjorm’s body, and the heaviness in her lungs had faded. She put a hand to her forehead, and found it was no longer freezing to the touch.

“I feel… much better, actually,” she said. “Thank you, Lena…!”

Lena smiled. “It’s my pleasure.” She took a step back, looking Fjorm over. “Even so… I fear it may only be a temporary cure. Until I can identify the affliction itself, my magic can only soothe the symptoms. You may continue to get worse…”

Fjorm shook her head. “It’s quite alright. I understand. And at least I’m not in any pain now.”

“It’s the least I can do. For now, I’ll do what I can to research your condition. Perhaps the library might hold the answers…”

The library… If she was going to conduct her research there, she’d surely run into Lysithea’s group. There’d be little to stop her illness from becoming common knowledge. Yes, she’d have more minds working on finding a cure… but it was already too late. The Rite of Frost wouldn’t be denied, and everyone would fear for her in the meanwhile. And then, ultimately, she’d die.

But there was nothing she could do about it. She could only smile, as she always did, and thank Lena for her time. But as she smiled, there was a timid knocking at the door. Lena stepped over, opening it a crack.

“Yes? Who…?” She gasped. “Ah! Princess Eir!”

At Eir’s name, Fjorm sat up immediately, cursing her weakness. The door opened all the way, and Eir stepped in with her usual soft stride, regarding Fjorm with sad eyes.

“I’d heard you’d fallen unwell…” she said. “Prince Alfonse and Princess Sharena told me… They were so pale with worry…”

“Did they, now?” Lena sighed. “However worrying it may be, it’ll do no good to have everyone worked up into a state. Could I leave you with her for a while, Princess Eir? She needs some rest—but failing that, some company to calm her nerves would be welcome too.”

“Of course,” Eir said, looking down at Fjorm. “I’ll stay with her… Thank you, Lena.”

Lena smiled. “If anything worsens, let me know immediately. We’ll see if we can have someone stationed outside for her to call out to, as well.”

With those last reassuring words, she left through the door. Fjorm found herself alone with Eir, who immediately took a seat on the bed next to her.

Already, the sight of her was stirring up such vivid memories of that dream. Wonderful memories. But Fjorm tried to put them out of her mind.

“Princess Fjorm…” Eir said. “This affliction—is this…?”

Her words trailed off, but Fjorm knew what she meant from the tone of her voice. She hesitated, then nodded.

“I… I believe so. My body felt so strange, then so cold, then… I was like this.”

The look on Eir’s face was unreadable, save for the deep sorrow it carried.

“…I see,” she said softly.

“I suppose I must have pressed my luck with fate yesterday,” Fjorm said, despite resolving earlier not to blame herself or any ‘fate’. “I knew the Rite of Frost wouldn’t stay away forever, but this is all… so sudden. The deterioration, the fogginess, the pain… I don’t know what it’ll lead to. I don’t want to think about it. If Lena hadn’t eased my symptoms, I’d be in an even worse state.”

“Lena is a remarkable healer, yes… Some days ago, I saw her deliver a child from a mother on the edge of death. The mother’s life hung so precariously on the balance, but she brought her back. The child—a beautiful baby girl, yes—cried with life, and the mother wept with joy… I know Lena will do her best for you.”

“Truly? I’m blessed with such capable allies…”

Eir paused, looking down, then sighed. “Prince Alfonse and Princess Sharena did not seem to understand your affliction… Am I to understand you haven’t told them the truth…?”

“How could I…?” Fjorm said through gritted teeth. “It’d break my heart to make them worry so. If they knew I was near death—”

“But… you told me,” Eir said, her voice almost a whisper. “You confided in me, but not them… You shouldn’t have carried this burden alone all this time.”

“I wanted to spare them the pain. I hate seeing them worry… but I also didn’t want to look weak. For the sake of everyone’s happiness, I had to stay strong.”

Fjorm took a shaky breath.

“I know they’d try to help in some way, but it’s hopeless… I’d be putting them through such an ordeal, and all for nothing. The Rite of Frost won’t be defied. It won’t be turned aside. It won’t be stopped by any magic from this world or any other.”

Eir sighed once more.

“I understand,” she said. “If you wish to face your death without causing them pain… I will not stop you. But I still want to help… however I can.”

“You’ve already helped me. You’ve given me someone to talk to about… all this. A person who understands.”

Eir closed her eyes, and the sadness shifted to pain.

“Princess Fjorm…”

“I’m sorry,” Fjorm added. “To think we’d only just gotten to know one another, and then this… I’m sorry I hadn’t talked to you sooner. If I had, we could have done so much more.”

“No,” Eir said, shaking her head. “You mustn’t go to the grave with a heart full of regrets… You must consider death a kindness; a deliverance from your worldly troubles. You’ve done so much… You’re allowed to rest.”

Fjorm rubbed her arms. Even as Lena had eased the cold, she found herself shaking.

“I’m… still scared to die,” she admitted, and with the admission her breathing grew heavier. “My head’s clouded by fear, and regret, and… and everything I don’t want to have in the end. I only wanted to die happy…”

Eir opened her eyes, and Fjorm saw the sympathy in them. She moved closer to Fjorm, her voice lowering to a whisper.

“Death isn’t something to be feared… If you truly feel it’s the only way, if you feel such pain, or numbness, or exhaustion… it’s okay to stop. It’s okay to let go…”

Silently, Fjorm nodded. But it wasn’t so easy to clear her heart of that fear—and Eir could see it on her face.

Eir was the only one who Fjorm could confide in. The only one who understood death, who understood her desire to face it by herself. To Eir, death was a natural process. If death was an end to suffering, then she didn’t look to resist it; only did her best to ensure that the death itself, as befitting one’s final moments before the end, was spent in happiness.

The memory of that dream visited Fjorm again. She’d been so happy—so content in Eir’s arms, brushing against her lips, pressing against her bare skin.

“Eir…” she whispered. “Can I make a selfish request…?”

Eir looked down at her, listening patiently, and Fjorm reached a hand up from the bed, stroking her face.

She wanted to find that feeling again. If this really had to be the end—and if Eir was willing to do anything to indulge her self-centredness, to guide her into the afterlife with happiness in her heart—then she wanted only to relive that moment.

“Can you… kiss me?”

Eir smiled sadly. Her expression was one of understanding.

“Of course.”

Eir’s gloved hands fell around Fjorm’s cheeks, and she pulled her into a loving kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure whatever follows in the final chapter will be completely wholesome.


	3. Their Last Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eir indulges Fjorm before the end.

Fjorm could feel her life ebbing away. Her vision, as before, grew less distinct; her head swum with a fever of thoughts she could hardly make sense of; and the icy sensation grasping at her heart was returning faster than Lena could have anticipated. The window in her room hung slightly ajar, shuddering back and forth, and every so often a gust of frostbitten wind would slip through the gap, brushing her cheek like an affectionate hand. It was a message carried in the air, she liked to think, all the way from Nifl: from Hrid and Ylgr, the family she’d leave behind; and from Gunnthrá and her mother, the family she’d reunite with so very soon. 

Time to go, it said. Time to let go.

But locked in Eir’s embrace, Fjorm wanted to hang on for just a short while longer. If time would soon lose all meaning for her, then she’d do her best to cling to happiness as that time slipped away. Even as Eir carried death’s chill, Fjorm felt nothing but warmth from her body as it pressed over hers. Her mind went numb; her worries, fears, and regrets all dwindled to nothing, and her hands slid down Eir’s form slowly as if every moment of contact was an act of worship.

She couldn’t remember exactly when Eir, in the midst of their initial kiss, had crawled on top of her bed; or when Eir had cast her blankets aside to straddle her body, drawing low enough to lie on top of her; or when her own hands had found their way to Eir’s hips, taking delight in the way her black, silken dress curved around her legs. In her foggy state, she was only aware of each instant as it happened—of the overwhelming bliss Eir worked to provide her with as all things came to an end, and the joy she found in reciprocating. 

Eir’s tongue glided over Fjorm’s lips before slipping between them, and Fjorm eagerly took in the sweet taste of her mouth. She felt Eir’s gloved fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her deeper into the kiss, while her other hand slid up from her shoulder to cup her cheek, never letting up on the pressure or drawing away.

“You’re too… good to me…” Fjorm sighed between kisses. “My heart feels so… so light…”

It was so much better than the dream she’d had. Eir’s touch was real, her body was real, and the pleasure she gave her—the pleasure was all so unmistakably real. This is what Fjorm had wanted. This is what she had needed. Even when she was being so selfish in her requests, Eir was willing to do anything for her comfort, determined that she wouldn’t spent her last moments steeped in sorrow.

She didn’t know if Eir was motivated by love or sympathy; by real feelings of attraction and desire, or by the duty she felt to ensure Fjorm’s happiness. Their first proper conversation, when all was said and done, had only been the day before: it seemed silly to assume Eir could feel so strongly for her in such a short space of time. But there and then, in the way she kissed Fjorm—her tongue gliding across hers in slow, deliberate motions—it was hard to believe she could only be acting out of duty.

Whatever the truth was, it didn’t matter, because Fjorm was losing herself in the sensations Eir brought. She pressed her palms against her back, feeling her exposed skin, the smoothness of her flesh, the firmness of her muscles; and as the kiss deepened, with Eir’s tongue wrapping around hers in an endless, passionate dance, Fjorm clung to her desperately, as if afraid that the moment would end as soon as she let go.

Afraid. Yes, she was still afraid. She needed more—more comfort, more closeness. More love.

Fjorm knew herself well; recognised the longing she had for Eir. Kissing alone, no matter how deep, would never have been enough to satisfy her.

Here at the end, she couldn’t help but be selfish again.

“Eir…” she moaned. “I want to… see more of you. Please…”

Eir’s face pulled back from hers, lips still connected by a string of saliva, and she looked down at Fjorm with that same sympathetic expression she always wore. Then, not wasting a moment, she sat up, still straddling Fjorm, and moved her hands to the front of the dress, peeling down the black folds to reveal her pale breasts, her slim waist, her toned stomach.

She was so beautiful, Fjorm thought, bathed in the midday light streaking through the window. How could death be this gorgeous…?

Her sleeves—separate from the dress—came next, revealing her arms, stretched taut with slender muscles. Her gloves followed soon after to unveil her hands, white as bone, with long fingers and nails painted black. Fjorm felt her throat tightening as she stared up at her. Eir was only left in her long boots, but made no move to take them off. She gazed down at Fjorm softly, letting the girl take in the sight of her, letting her indulge in her fascination.

“T-thank you…” Fjorm whispered.

She felt overdressed. Even with the bedsheets gone, she was still in her blue nightgown from when she’d collapsed that morning.

She didn’t quite want to part with it. It’d been a gift from Gunnthrá, one of the last she’d received before Surtr had turned their family’s joy to ash. Were she to take it off now—to let it go, along with all the importance it carried—she might never have the chance to wear it again.

But soon enough, she’d be with Gunnthrá again.

If it was for her own happiness, for the sake of enjoying her time with Eir, perhaps she could bring herself to cast it aside—just as she’d cast her armour aside in the dream, letting all her burdens sink away into the earth.

She pulled the nightgown’s straps off her shoulders, glancing at Eir as she did so. She wanted to be closer to her. Closer in any way she could. Eir parted her lips slightly as Fjorm slipped out of the gown, quickly exposing her chest. She sat there, naked from the waist up, letting Eir look at her a moment longer. Her eyes were filled with warmth and love.

Love—she was sure of it, now. She still didn’t know whether it was more lust or compassion, but there was love in Eir’s eyes all the same. Something that carried her further than simple duty.

The chill in Fjorm’s chest grew sharper, and she had to suppress a cough. She felt so cold without Eir’s touch; but Eir, as if sensing her discomfort, immediately pressed against her, and all that was cold seemed warm again. The feeling of Eir’s skin on hers was indescribable, and she couldn’t help but shudder.

“Princess Fjorm…” she whispered. “Does this… make you happy…?”

Her hands were on Fjorm’s shoulders, her lips mere inches away. Fjorm tried to nod, but found her neck weaker than usual.

“Yes. So very happy, Eir…”

Eir smiled sadly.

“I’m glad… If I can ease even one person’s suffering before the end, then my life has had some purpose. And if that person is you, Princess Fjorm… then that makes me happier than I could ever have hoped…”

She kissed her again, and a bittersweet feeling washed over Fjorm. Her heart was pounding, threatening to break free from her chest. Her breaths were short and quick. She could feel Eir’s pulse through the palm of her hand, quaking rapidly.

“Eir…?” she asked, breaking the kiss.

“Yes?”

Her deep blue eyes gazed into Fjorm’s, urging her on.

“I know I’m asking so much of you. I know I’m just using you for my comfort. But… if it’s alright with you… can we… go further?”

Eir smiled.

“If it would bring your heart comfort… then I will gladly oblige.”

Fjorm laughed softly, and the sound heartened her. Even like this, she hadn’t lost her ability to take joy in things.

“What about you, Eir…? Is this something you want? Not something simply done for my sake?”

Eir cupped her cheek softly, her fingers soft against her skin.

“It’s something I want because it’s something you want. Perhaps that sounds strange, or self-sacrificing, but… how can I regret anything I do for you when it’s something that eases your pain…? Anything you ask, I would gladly do twice, if only it made you smile…”

“Eir… You know that isn’t fair on you.”

“I understand how it seems, Princess Fjorm, but… please don’t fear that you’re simply using me selfishly. I offer myself to you willingly, to help lift your troubles and ease your worries… If death is the only way, then I will do all I can to lighten the journey.”

Fjorm didn’t deserve her. Not her kindness, not her love.

But she needed her.

She leaned into another kiss, anxious to feel anything other than the cold that threatened to consume her, and parted her lips as the warmth of Eir’s tongue enveloped her again. The tenderness from before quickly melted away, becoming heated and hungry. Eir’s mouth worked quickly, her tongue pushing in deep and moving with a zeal Fjorm hadn’t known she was capable of. The sudden passion took Fjorm by surprise, but she tried her best to respond in kind. They both wanted each other to feel good.

The nails of Eir’s free hand dug into Fjorm’s shoulder as she pulled herself close, while her other hand went down, slipping beneath the nightgown around her waist. Fjorm gasped into the kiss as Eir’s cold touch brushed against her folds, and a shudder wracked her body. Eir’s hand worked eagerly, rubbing and stroking along her most intimate parts and driving her desires higher and higher still. Her fingers coaxed moans from Fjorm’s lips, which turned more sharply into cries as her feelings overwhelmed her.

Eir’s mouth never stopped moving against Fjorm’s—her tongue was slick and skilled as it slid in time with her fingers, and the heat she was building inside her mingled with the unnatural cold pervading every part of her body. Fjorm made a soft sound of complaint as Eir’s fingers left her, but then Eir shifted, moving down as her mouth drifted over Fjorm’s stomach. Fjorm’s voice caught in her throat as Eir’s tongue flicked out, running over her belly and down even further.

A hot, wet feeling washed over her as Eir’s mouth embraced her between her legs, breaking up her breathing into desperate sighs. With the same fervour as when she’d entered Fjorm’s mouth, Eir’s tongue and lips worked into her, licking and sucking and kissing at her most intimate places. Every ounce of fear in Fjorm’s heart melted away as she surrendered to the feelings Eir was stirring inside her.

“Ah… Eir…!”

Her voice quivered as she moaned, trying not to cry out too loudly. The door wasn’t locked—if Lena or the siblings had walked in, she might have died prematurely of sheer embarrassment. Eir didn’t let up, however: she focused on making every moment count, bringing her as much pleasure as she could. Her tongue curled and weaved around her, coaxing sweet sounds from Fjorm’s lips with every flick and swirl.

It was too much. A spark shot through Fjorm’s head, and she cried out, feeling every muscle in her body tense up as her climax washed over her. She went week in the knees, the pleasure wracking through her mind and overwhelming her senses. Like the tightening of a noose, she couldn’t breathe freely until every last drop of apprehension had been swept away by delight.

Fjorm panted heavily, her heart hammering in her chest. She needed a moment to catch her breath. Eir, slowly rising back up, studied her face.

It was the same look as yesterday, when she’d given Fjorm the flower wreath. The search for approval—for reassurance that she’d done well. And just as before, she smiled softly at Fjorm’s look of utter exhilaration, satisfied.

“Eir…” Fjorm murmured, no longer finding the strength to move. “Could you come here…? I’d like… to taste you in the same way…”

Eir nodded, then immediately complied, sliding forward and straddling Fjorm so that her dripping folds were right by her lips. Her scent washed over Fjorm, musky and enticing, and her mouth watered in anticipation.

It wouldn’t be long, now. It wasn’t just a shortness of breath keeping her down; her entire body felt drained, and the corners of her vision had gone dark again.

She was almost ready. Almost.

She ran her hands along Eir’s boots, up her legs to her hips, then slid them around her back. Eir hovered in anticipation, slowly lowering herself—and then gasped as Fjorm’s mouth was on her.

The intimacy of the moment made her heart race almost as much as when Eir had been pleasuring her. She began running her tongue along her folds, tasting Eir as Eir had tasted her. She moaned softly at Fjorm’s touch, rocking her hips gently. The flavour was odd at first, but it soon became intoxicating; and Fjorm wanted more and more of her, not letting a single drop of her fluids escape her. She wanted the taste to linger for as long as possible, to let it stay with her into the life beyond. Eir’s soft cries filled the room as Fjorm brought her closer and closer to the edge.

Most of all, she wanted to thank her. To reward her. Because she knew, in all likelihood, that this would be the last time she ever had the chance.

The words were on her lips, almost spoken without thinking.

“Eir… I…”

I love you.

The words froze in her throat. She couldn’t say them. Her tongue stopped, and Eir looked down.

As ever, there was nothing but sympathy in her eyes, and her smile was gentle and understanding.

“I know, Fjorm,” she whispered.

It was enough.

Fjorm’s tongue found its way back inside Eir, and the rocking of her hips continued. Her hands moved to Eir's backside, and Fjorm gently squeezed her cheeks, fondling her as her tongue danced in place. Eir’s movements grew quicker, more forceful; and Fjorm increased her pace to match her passion. Eir’s breathing was ragged and desperate; her scent filled Fjorm’s nostrils, and they both felt something approaching. As Eir took Fjorm’s head with both her hands, her legs tensed up and her body began to shudder. With one final release, she cried out, filling Fjorm’s mouth with her essence before gently collapsing backwards, panting heavily.

As Fjorm’s head sunk back into the pillow, she let Eir’s taste sit on her lips. She didn’t want to wash it away. It was a reminder of her; of everything she’d felt with her, and everything Eir had given her.

In that moment, as her eyes drifted shut, she was finally free of fear.

* * *

All was silent in the castle gardens. The birds had sung their last songs for the day, and the sky was touched with the first light of dusk. Eir walked among the flowers, feeling the dew from the grass soaking into her boots.

Her eyes came to stop on two distinct bushes: one a pale blue, the other a deep red. Her fingers ran along the twisted branches of each, then plucked a single flower from each bush. She rose the blue one to her nose and gave a short, gentle sniff, and a faint trace of a familiar scent tickled her nose for a moment. Then the wind changed, and the smell was lost.

She looked up at the trees, watching the red leaves brush in the breeze. They swayed there for a moment, hanging on, before finally giving in and scattering away into the autumn sky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, then... that's that. What an interesting pairing to write for, though. I can only hope that Heroes takes the opportunity to explore the two some more through Forging Bonds: it'd be a shame to leave characters with so much dramatic potential on the wayside. 
> 
> I'm probably due for something a touch more lighthearted next. Suggestions and requests, as usual, are entirely welcome.


End file.
